The Good, the Bad, the Troubled, and the Evil
by JawnsIntern
Summary: Get a glimpse into the world after the 'fall', where Sherlock still seems to be 'resting in peace'. Some drown in their grief, some try to keep their mouths shut and some still have unfinished business left regarding the former detective. "Once he thought he was free, took one wrong step and got tangled in the spiders web again."
1. Un

Sherlock had purchased a phone. Well, one of his people from the homeless network did, but it lying on his table was the real problem. He was still questioning his decision, with his chin resting in the palm of his hands. Everything laid still and quiet with nothing but the specks of dust floating in the air, reflecting in the rays of sun. Sherlock hadn't moved a muscle for minutes now, eyes locked on the communicating device of a considerately new model. The detective didn't know why he had got one and for what reason. He had no one to call, due to the fact, the closest people taught of him as a dead man. The silence and loneliness had become surprisingly nerve-wrecking. Countless nights of wandering around London, always led him closer and closer to the doors of 221B and its inhabitants, but something always stopped his temptation in time. Becoming present was as tempting as lighting a cigarette between his teeth, but if he would do so, hell would break loose, if it hadn't already.

The first few digits of Molly's number appeared on the screen, but we're erased just as quickly.  
What would he say, "I'm bored"?  
That was another problem; he'd have to wreck his mind over. His first words he would say, if anyone ever saw him, we're still a clue to be solved.

The walls of his hide away we're a sickly white colour and the room itself was quite empty. His favourite belongings, including his neatly folded coat, lay in the closet, and his current clothes, which made his nose cringe in dislike, laid scattered on the mattress. Whenever he had to go out into the world, he wasn't going as detective Holmes, or as some would say 'the fraud', but he went as the loner Sherlock, who got rarely looked twice at.

The sun was setting and so was the shadow of Sherlock pacing the room. The silver of the moonlit night shone in through the small, opened window. A light, chilly breeze was making its way inside, making multiple scattered papers fly off the table. The always busy detective would've left them there, probably let John or Mrs Hudson, not his house-keeper, come and pick them up. If only he was back in Baker Street, but it wasn't the case anymore, what was left of the consulting detective was hid and locked away somewhere far away in his mind. Once Sherlock bent down to pick up the mess, his eyes went over a newspaper article with a name he'd seen before.

_Richard Brook spills the dirt about his 'co-star' Sherlock Holmes. The storyteller, for the last time, goes over what happened a year ago, in an interview with Kitty Riley-_

The detective got sick to his stomach as he re-read the words over and over again. The rest of it was ripped off, probably used to clean up a recent tea spill.

Sherlock crumbled the rest of the article and threw it over his shoulder. Walking over to the door with a coat clutched in his hand, he managed to breathe properly for his brain not to shut down. Stumbling down the stairs, he mumbled and cursed. Sherlock wished he had gun to let all the emotions out with. Feelings weren't something Holmes would ever confirm, but bundles of frustration and anger had built up inside of him. Walking over the deserted street, he let his mind race. No matter what, it seemed as if the man was still on his tracks, following his every step. Being dead didn't seem to be a burden for him- Wait, no, this couldn't be right. He remembered correctly that it said, _what happened almost a year ago,_ so the article must be not older than a week or two.

"John, we have a case to solve. Moriarty is still alive." Sherlock wished he could say whilst walking in his old flat, but he didn't dare to risk of pulling John back into this and Sherlock was practically Patrick Swayze in his best friend's eyes.

The detective's thoughts drifted back to the newspaper. It didn't really prove Moriarty's existence, it may be just Kitty Riley filling up the story for her own good, but if it was Jim after all, what was the use of it.

Had he really known Sherlock was alive all this time and he'd come back to torment him? He hadn't really messed with Jim's perfect ending, everyone still thought that Holmes wasn't who he'd claimed he was, but it seemed as if Moriarty had other plans in mind.

The screeching sound of tires and a loud car honk sent him out of his mind palace just in time before colliding with the bumper of a black van. Sherlock held his hands out as an apology and got out of the way of the vehicle, but just before walking away with no witnesses on the late night streets of London, he tried to make out the plate of the car. If his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, he would've swore it said "ICU" but it was too late to check, the van was far off into the distance.

Rushing back into his small, one roomed apartment, Sherlock dropped his coat and paced around the room. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do. Staying clam was not so easy if he was being chased again, not even sure if in reality or in his delusional mind, by a psychotic, evil mastermind with an unhealthy obsession with the detective.

But for a second he stopped and let it all settle in. A hoarse, mad laugh escaped his lips, his palms put together as if Sherlock was about to applaud for the consulting criminal. Oh, Moriarty, clever-clever Moriarty. It was his plan all along. Make the poor detective think he's gone mad, drain his sanity to the last core. Holmes let his true colors show through the cracks for a second, letting the mask slip. The quiet, 'dead' Sherlock, he'd been playing for months now faded and the high functioning sociopath reappeared in his place. Very well, Jim. Two could play that game.

* * *

**Authors little cute note:**

Oh, hi. Still here? Good.  
Yes, it is I, the writer of this teeny tiny story. I just came by to tell you that I have decided to write a long lasting, multiple chaptered story based on the amazing show called Sherlock. Anywho, I hope you decide to stick around and read my little masterpiece. I post these stories for experience and I would LOVE to hear from you what you think about them, because it helps me grow and learn. c:

**Anyway, once again thank you for reading and maybe even taking your time to read this and mayyyyyyyybe leaving a review! See you next week!  
*smooches from shoulder-Jim and shoulder-Dean* (Inside joke, sorry)**


	2. Deux

The high pitched sound of a kettle boiling up erupted in the far distance of Mrs Hudson's flat. Two doors and a flight of stairs away, it still seemed to be loud enough for John Watson to get startled by. The morning sun lurked in through the curtains of the flat, which oozed with a grey vibe.

It's been awfully uneventful for the past couple of months, but for John, it seemed as if only yesterday, he had seen his best friend jump off a building, wishing a goodbye and calling himself nothing but a fraud. John shut down, locked himself away, zoning out any people voices who tried to get to him. If he ever wanted to speak up, he'd do it himself. He hadn't heard anything related to Moriarty and didn't intend to. His name hadn't been heard not even once and no matter how strange it may have seemed, it didn't bother Watson. It was as if the consulting criminal had packed his bags and disappeared as if he never existed, ironically. John wondered, if this only ever was to Moriarty, nothing but a game, which he finished and moved on. It may be for the better good, the last thing John wanted to do was meet eye to eye with the criminal after the misery he'd put through even the most innocent people.

The tray of boiled tea clattered when Mrs Hudson walked up the stairs to John's and Sherlock's flat. John's that is, but somehow the landlady still hadn't let that set in. Indeed, she had faced the heart-breaking truth, but not for a second had accepted it. Yes, the man was a hand full, but at the end of the day, Sherlock Holmes was still a good man who'd helped her in the worst times. She didn't know what the reasons for such an ending were or even what him and John of them we're up to at the end, but when all the rumours of Sherlock's charade struck her, it pained to know people thought of him that way and Mrs Hudson refused to listen to any of them. Mrs Hudson was a proper, good woman, keeping up her appearance whenever she could, but if she'd ever know who to blame for such a tragedy as Sherlock's 'suicide', not even she knows what she'd do.

"Here you go, John." Mrs Hudson exhaled putting the tray down on the table and patting John's shoulder reassuringly.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson." John thanked clearing his throat slightly. The humid air and the constant staying at home, wasn't doing him any good.

"Well, I better be off. I'm cooking and I don't have the recipe, it's on the telly. Wouldn't believe how many different shows they show these days."

On her way back downstairs, she greeted someone in a noticeably cheerful way. The man passed her with a friendly grin and a greeting of the same kind.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson. Always lovely to see you." Mycroft knocked on the doorway with the end of his umbrella. A few raindrops flying off to the carpet, "May I?"

John nodded without much of a choice. Mycroft entered the flat, for what seemed to be the dozenth time in the last months. He never seemed to understand the reason for his constant visits, if not only a gesture of kindness and sympathy. Somehow, Watson thought it was his way of making up, apologizing for Mycroft's surrender to Moriarty, for not getting to him and letting the criminal loose, who'd been aching for Sherlock's misery. John wasn't bothered anymore, didn't blame anyone, Sherlock's brother had tried, really. The man was the British Government, and if he couldn't crack Moriarty, then the problem was much bigger than Mycroft's ticking patience. What's been done is done, but Mycroft thought otherwise. So did a dozen other people.

"How are you doing, John?" Mycroft asked sympathetically, looking around 221b. It was unusually tidy, Mrs Hudson must have gotten her hands on the place. Everything was sorted, except for the microscope and piled stacks of papers pushed away in the corner of the kitchen, the bullet holed wall was also still in its usual state. The older Holmes brother shook his head with a smirk plastered on his face, "Bored".

Mycroft wasn't sure himself, why he'd decided to see John more often. It reminded him of the first few times they've met, but this time was different. A change of roles, instead of having the need to see what's new in his younger brother's life, the ex-army soldier was now the topic. To him it felt more like a responsibility now, judging by the situation.

"How is Lucy doing?" Holmes wondered, but answered himself loudly, "Oh, right, you don't know, would've if you've gone outside more often."

John had started seeing a girl, nothing really, just to take his mind off of things. She was nice and friendly, but soon after he started drifting away, falling into some kind of never ending dilemma, between going out or staying in, the other option always took the upper hand.

"You know I'm going to start getting better, it's been only a few months." John assured him. He didn't want people to feel worried or concerned for him.

"I'm not rushing you. Take your time." Mycroft didn't feel the need to be a pushover. No need to make anyone and himself uncomfortable, his visits we're always short. Important, but short, "Well, I better be off. Have a scheduled meeting I wouldn't risk to be late to. Wouldn't want to get half of London get blown up." He snickered sending a glance John's way, not received any real emotion.

With a quiet "See you soon" towards John and a wave with his umbrella to Mrs Hudson, Mycroft left making his way to the car that was awaiting for him down the street. Taking out his phone to check the time, his fingers moved swiftly over a few buttons. He hesitated for a split second, but still did as he had implied to.

Tell him.  
MH

Mycroft never expected an answer, because well, he never received one. Not even the slightest from his brother. If he hadn't known better, he would've believed Sherlock's death, but sibling rivalry was all it was. Sherlock being Sherlock.

Working on it.  
SH

The older Holmes stopped for a second in his tracks, but carried on moments later. Oh, brother dear.

Sherlock already imagined Mycroft's wide eyed stare on the screen of his phone, once receiving the message. His reply was spontaneous, but also an attempt to get rid of his brothers constant text messages Sherlock kept receiving since the detective had gotten the phone, he now strictly regretted getting.

Pocketing the mobile device, he adjusted the collar of his favorite coat and scarf. It was time for a visit, and the appropriate attire was needed.

* * *

**Author's adorable little note:**

**Hi there, again! **

**With FINALLY filling in the little gaps, we are starting to get somewhere and the next chapter will definitely be much more interesting. I promise. Well, for me it does seem interesting. Everyone has their own opinion, really, but it never really differs so much. I think we all think alike in some ways. c;**

**It's just too tempting to tell you what an interesting, not BBC Sherlock related character I'm about to put in my story, but I want to keep it as a surprise, IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, hehe. c:**

**Anyway, reviews and your opinions are highly appreciated so don't be shy and well, I'll see you soon.**

**Byeeeeeeee**


	3. Trois

The humid, late night air smelled of strong coffee and sweat. The sound of guns clicking echoed through the hallways of the almost empty villa. Sebastian Moran sat comfortably at the dining room table, with weapons scattered over it. His shirt stained due to his last mission, smudged with the black of oil, dirt and gun powder, along with specks of crimson red. Posh, definitely wasn't the word for his appearance.

The unlocking of doors and clicking of shoes didn't alarm him for a second. Cleaning his hands in a ragged piece of cloth, Moran turned to the man who he'd never met in person. Sherlock Holmes looked the same as he had in the files and pictures, Jim had showed him months ago, when he was still the puppet in Moriarty's play. His coat hugging his shoulders and collar turned upwards, may have seemed as a confident look, but Sebastian saw the slight signs of fear in his steps and clenched jaw. Holmes's must have been questioning his decision of coming vulnerable and unarmed by nothing, but his words

Moran wasn't who the detective was expecting to see, especially in Moriarty's household. Sherlock somehow thought that he'd greet death himself as an old friend, but it seemed like they were back to page one. No direct contact, just messages from his people.

"Sebastian Moran. Quite the pleasure to meet you." Sebastian introduced himself in a hoarse and low tone. Sherlock's eyes squinted looking down at the man.

"Colonel Moran, lived in London for all your life, well almost. Quite rebellious, judging by your position in the business, parents didn't let little Sebastian play with his guns? Ex-military, sent back because started to enjoy your job a bit too much. Now you're his right hand or assassin or sniper, your pick, assuming by the…equipment."

A smirk of approval appeared on Sebastian's lips "No need for deducing, Mr Holmes. I'm assured you know more about me than I know myself."

Sherlock pointed out that he hadn't come for blunt chatter, but Moran knew it already. "Mr Moriarty hadn't come back yet, if, of course, he is the reason for your company."

"Should there be any other reason than my wish to see Moriarty?"

"Well, I would be more than flattered, that is, if I was the reason. Jim does rely on me dearly, most of what you've seen is my work." Sebastian bragged.

"I suppose, I found the little message he left obvious enough to be an invitation." Sherlock's mind drifted to his little present he received. Coming back home after the usual wandering, he had to face the empty white wall, being not that white anymore. Sherlock rolled his eyes and grunted at the enormous red letters spelling "Come and get me". Gore was Moriarty's kind of thing. Text messages we're Sherlock's, it would've been more appropriate, but not as effective.

"Patience, Mr Holmes, wouldn't hurt to have some."

"You'll be hearing from me." Sherlock announced with his back now to Sebastian, Holmes was halfway through the door when the sniper replied.

"Vice versa, Mr Holmes."

Sebastian bowed his head and secured the gun back in its place under his shirt. He didn't bother to check if the detective really left, there was no need. No one messed with a man whose appearance resembled Moran's in the least. He'd stare and smirk mischievously letting the other feel alarmed and unsafe. Moran was a tiger standing still awaiting for its prey to make the next move. Never bothering to look back, Sebastian knew that he was his own shield.

His feet found the cold, tiled floor of the kitchen. Walking over to the bar, he popped a bottle open and poured the strong alcohol. Already letting the drink consume his system, the sniper set the other one on the counter.

"Coast is clear."  
After less than a few seconds, the man who put a bullet through his own skull appeared from the shadows of the other room. With another signature Westwood suit, jet-black hair slicked back, and slight stubble covering his features, the consulting criminal made his way to his own kitchen. Moriarty still let one hand rest in the pocket of his slacks, while reaching for the drink.

"I despise, yet admire people who don't play by my rules," Jim stated slowly, letting the s's linger in the air. With his eyes fixed on the glass of scotch he swirled in his hand, Jim huffed under his own breath. "but I must have needed to keep my eyes more open."

Being in the wrong wasn't Moriarty's type of game, but his patience never stopped ticking since he pulled the trigger on the roof of Bart's. Playing 'dead Moriarty' wasn't half as fun and he wasn't Mr Limitless anymore. Keeping a down-low became an issue and days filled with boredom happened more often, the 'holidays' didn't seem as fun as people made them sound like. Not long after 'the fall', Holmes's fake suicide came into light, but not Moriarty's. It ate at him, wishing he could finish his game properly, even thought about getting his own hands dirty. Knowing that Sherlock thought he'd outsmarted the consulting criminal, bent every nerve in Jim's body irritatingly. But the villain had greater plans in mind, rather than a sloppy job to get it over with. Making Holmes dance was just the warm up, but somehow Moriarty knew it was foolish of him to do so. They were a step ahead of each other most of the time, if not always. And so was the criminal this time.

"Ah, well." Jim interrupted the silence, startling his fellow friend and companion in crime. Jim's glass collided with the marble counter, whilst Sebastian downed what was left of his own beverage.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" Sebastian never questioned his boss, but concern was stronger than doubt and Moran dared to ask the question to Jim.

"Always am, Sebby. Always am." Moriarty assured him still clicking away on the final buttons of his phone, making Sherlock's own phone buzz miles away.

Round 2?  
JM

* * *

**Author's super awesome omg-you-wouldn't-believe-it note:**

**I'm being too generous and posted two chapters in just two days. Maybe it's just my constant boredom. Anywho, hope you enjoyed and let's NOT argue about Moran's character. Because, frankly, I have my own image of him in my head and I wanted to rely on that, so please, don't tell me if he isn't as accurate as in the books or what not. THANK YOU.**

**I hope the whole "this story doesn't rotate only around Sherlock" is pretty obvious, because well, there is no real main character in this and honestly, no idea where I'm going with this. I'll proooobably have to change the genre of the story to *cough* Crime/Romance *cough* due to the next few chapters so yeah. Now guess who'll be the one participating in a rather, affectionate relationship. Mwahahaha, we'll see ;D**  
**I mean, you can guess in the review box or whatever, pfffffft. It's not required or anything, but…you know.**


	4. Quatre

A light, soothing breeze cooled down the sunlit morning on the porch of Moriarty's suite. The blues of the Gulf of Naples and sky blended almost perfectly in his view. Bushes of pink and purple spread out on the cliff of Moriarty's hiding spot, smelled sweet and fresh relaxing every muscle in his body.

For anyone it would've seems as heaven down on earth, but no matter how calm the situation was, red lights were flashing in the back of his mind. Something was still off and Moriarty could sense it. He grunted annoyed by his own paranoia and swirled the glass in his hand. The sound of ice rocks colliding with each other was the only sound that caught Jim's ears, apart from the breeze whistling in the background and the hesitant footsteps of a fear filled maid behind him. The poor damsel in distress almost lost her voice, once speaking up to inform Moriarty that Moran was on the other line.

"He says it's important." She stuttered straightening out her back.

Jim put the laptop on the glass table in front of him and shot a grin in the girls' way, "Thanks, love" She was far off into the distance already.

Moran's face appeared on the screen. With an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear and sandy blonde hair ruffled to every side, a mischievous smirk tucked at his lips. Sebastian sat at the kitchen counter of Moriarty's residence.

"I'm in Capri, enjoying myself, a nice strong drink and the view. Does it really seem like I could be bothered by work or spilling blood?" Jim sounded irritated by Moran's tries of contacting him, but if he went through so much, it must be important. If not, he knows how that ends.

"Having a glimpse of heaven are we, sir?" Sebastian mocked Jim's dead status, not worrying about the consequences that he may suffer later on.

"Go on then. What was so important that you had to contact me?" Moriarty gestured with his hand for the man to quicken his pace. It made Moran hesitate for a second too long, wondering if he did the right thing, but yet again, Jim would've found out himself later and Sebastian would've become a dead man himself.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, but yet, all the king's horses and all the king's men, still put Humpty together again."Sebastian mumbled too loudly sending the files for Jim to see. His lack of expression made Moran shift in his seat uncomfortably, waiting for his boss's next move. He expected a yell, or a series of curse words and threats towards anyone who was involved in this. All the consulting criminal did was rest his forehead on the palm of his hand and let a giggle escape his lips, with a concerned sniper and a recent picture of a rather alive Sherlock staring back at him.

"That's it?" was all Jim dared to answer with. His expression was hard to read, either because of the ease with which he hid it perfectly, or the sunglasses covering his dark eyes that reflected nothing but the computer screen. Sebastian was taken aback, but nodded slowly expecting something rather different.

"You can expect me back any time soon; I guess I still have business to deal with." Jim said rubbing his temples, "No smoking in my house, Moran." Moriarty pointed out before clicking the laptop shut. With silence filling the veranda once again, Jim stood with the whiskey still in his hand. His eyes bored into it for a second, with his lips pursed together. With a swift movement, he let the glass shatter against the wall.

* * *

The consulting criminal sat comfortably in the plush armchair. His blazer unbuttoned, hair slicked back and the musk scent of an aftershave still tickling his skin. A small bar was open revealing its content of various alcoholic drinks. For guests, tea was never served, when Moriarty was involved. The guest room, mostly referred to as his personal space, reflected the masculine side of Jim. Whiskey and expensive cologne lingered in the air, redwood furniture making the lighting seem much more dim, untouched books stacked on one of the walls, it all screamed business.

The door swung open quietly. Jim stood up slowly, adjusting his jacket to greet his guest properly. The consulting detective entered to doorway. The tension was hard to ignore. The two men eyed each other for longer than a while, greeting one another with no words being spoken. Moriarty decided to cut their game of stare off short, speaking up, his voice oozing of sarcasm and fake joy.

"I pleasure to see you again Mr Holmes. It's been dreadfully quiet, thought you died for a second."

Sherlock sat at the chair opposite, rejecting Moriarty's hand shake. The criminals jaw clenched, but didn't let it bother him for any longer.

Nothing was spoken and the clock ticked in the far distance, no movement was made by anyone of Jim's staff in the house, the lesser were scared to make even the smallest move for Moriarty to notice.

"Did you ever get yourself a live-in one?" the detective asked casually, his tone too calm for being in front of a cold blooded psychopath, but then again, no one in the room was even partly sane.

Jim nodded in amusement that Mr Holmes had remembered something so unimportant. Wasn't he the one who deletes everything he finds unnecessary from his mind?

"Yes, I did, in fact. Wasn't as dull as imagined it would be, really. Turned out quite…" It seemed as if Jim had dozed off with his thoughts, smiling softly to a recent memory, "How is John, by the way?" he continued.

Sherlock shrugged, showing no real emotion. "How should I know?"

Moriarty grimaced, "Oh, please. I may have missed out a whole chapter in your little book, but I've taken a peek. How do you think I found you alive in the first place? Sherlock, you're losing your touch."

The detective didn't dare to open his mouth, knowing his word would be nothing but spiteful.

"Want me to fill in on the newest gossip about little, old Baker Street?"

The amusement in Moriarty's voice and the Cheshire cat like grin made Sherlock tense up. Clutching him hand to the arm seat. "I may have accepted your invitation for another little game of yours, but don't even think for a second of getting John, or anyone of that matter, into this."

"Where is the fun in that? You ruined my story, I forgive you. Correction, I applaud you, Sherlock, almost got me, but my next saga isn't going to be half as fun without you and your sidekick, and there is only one way to get it done."

"Resurrect." Sherlock mumbled to himself, not really wanting to face John's shocked, pale expression, if he ever gets to see him again. Dealing with confessions, dark secrets, apologies weren't the detectives' kind of cup of tea. He visualized how their greeting would go, and words of hatred and hurt coming from his best friend were also an option Sherlock didn't want to face, but had considered.

"So, want me to break the news or you'll do it yourself, Casper the ghost?" Holmes said nothing, but stared at the man who'd shattered the lives of hundredths, possibly thousands of people and how easily he got away with it. Strangers he'd never met before or known. That must have been the key to his success. Snapping his fingers and breaking a neck of a stranger was much easier without conscience poking him in the sides. But who knows, to a psychopath like him, even the closest people, whoever they counted as, weren't safe.

"I'll let you think about that one." Moriarty answered himself, letting his opponent know that their meet up has come to an end.

"Does it bother you?" Sherlock said while standing up to look from above on the criminal.

"What exactly?" Moriarty asked sounding more bored than ever.

"How I got away with my suicide."

"Does it matter, you did, end of story, in fact, a magician never reveals his secrets. What is more important now is where we're going from there."

"I assume you'll be keeping in touch."

"Brilliant observation, detective!" Moriarty mimicked a false expression of surprise to annoy Mr Holmes, who had no answer for it.

"Sebastian will show the way out."

"I can show myself the way out, thank you very much."

"Just to be careful, something you should have been a little while ago." Moriarty mocked with glee filling his voice, becoming high pitched once in a while. It sounded frightening and sent a chill over Holmes's spine as he walked over to the sniper, who gestured for the detective to walk first.

Jim stood alone, with hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched, he waited for the sound of the front door closing and it did just as he expected it. A soft, feminine voice spoke up, which made his dark features soften.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all, love."

* * *

**Amazing author's note of awesomeness: **

**I'm baaaack, and with a cliffhanger, kind of. Is it? I don't know. I really hope you enjoyed the chapter and will still keep in touch with a review to let me know how it went? c: And a BIG thank you to anyone who had already left a review for me. c: I appreciate it a lot.**

**So I'll see you, hopefully, soon and we will find out who is the mysterious woman in the end of this chapter ;oooo**


	5. Cinq

The loud bang of the door opening swiftly and colliding with the wall, startled the girl from her deep sleep. Her eyes checked the clock, and the numbers read that it was still too early for her liking. She always liked to sleep in and the drastic time zone changes weren't making it better. Jim stomped in, ignoring the red head completely, running from one corner to the other, caught up in his own world.

"Good morning to you too." She spoke up sarcastically. Clutching the blanket closer to her suddenly feeling too exposed in her own bedroom. Not responding in any way, he still kept digging through the dressers. A pillow went flying his way, he had it coming.

"Show some manners, I've accepted you in my house. We're…what did you call it, roommates?"

"I prefer the terms held hostage and captor, but if that's how you see it." She sighed, lying back down on the bed, sinking into the mattress covered in silk sheets, making her feel light as a feather.

Her eyes bored into him while he stood at the mirror fumbling with a lavender coloured tie he'd chosen to wear. She still wondered if her acceptance in the Moriarty household was just good karma. With a one way ticket from the other side of the world to London and packed bags, all she was missing was a place to stay. A girl her age in a decent, but small two room apartment, was as high as the Swedish girls expectations would go, but not even once she'd thought about…this. Also, taking note of the little money she had on her. Relieved, blessed, but slightly frightened she remembers receiving the letter in her e-mail from a certain, James Moriarty. Not sure, if it was her witty and detailed description about her passion for literature, or the too friendly agreements for taking care of any house chores that caught his eye, but now it didn't really seem much of a problem. Mr Moriarty definitely didn't have a need to split a bill, the lingering smell of expensive cologne and silk sheets stashed in the closet emphasised it.

Anyone would brush it off, say the man had a good heart. If it only wasn't Moriarty that was being spoken of. His generosity was impossibly unnoticeable, but behind all those kind smiles lied something she hadn't got to, not just yet. The smug grin would slip once or twice, his fingers would twitch and tension would rise. The way his aura would change with the blink of an eye was frightening. With the time passing curiosity and questions rose in the light and soon she got suspicious about all the hushed, angry conversation Jim had with his "colleague" Sebastian. What both of them did for a living was still a clue to her and whenever she asked, they'd change the subject swiftly.

Sometimes she'd joke about being the hostage, because going out in public and being seen close to Moriarty's home was strictly limited and that definitely made her question him. That being said, others wouldn't just brush it off, if it wasn't her, they'd decide to turn around and leave, forget they had ever even came in contact with a mas as him. He was bad news, but she had more time than anyone would need to understand that and it still seemed that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Help" Moriarty waved his hands in surrender. She tumbled over the bed, paddling down in his direction with bare feet on the cold tiled floor. Jim was a man of business, but sometimes he's act as a complete child. Standing so close, you could tell he was taller than her and so she could tell, with his hot breath tickling her nose.

With coal dark eyes, Jim caught himself staring. The girl he'd made himself trust in. She had nothing on her, which would've made him feel suspicious, a squeaky clean reputation. Good grades, both parents happily married, American, siblings, quite a lot. And list of voluntary jobs that stretched on forever. Of course, a man like Moriarty had to know everything about her, but she had no idea who James was, just a far too generous, secretive man. What made him make such a decision still was muffled even to him. He was unpredictable, changeable, even Moran didn't know what would be his next step, whether he'd put another fake bullet through his head or a real one. Moriarty wasn't a family man and not the one to socialize often, but he still was the one to invite a complete stranger to his far too big home. Who knew, maybe he was spontaneous or she was a part of another one of his schemes of destroying the consulting detective.

Finishing up with the tie, she looked up giving him a friendly smile. Her hands glided over his chest, evening out the crinkles of the shirt. Her cat like gaze, inevitably breath-taking, and a voice, soft and soothing, slightly slurred in the mornings tiredly. Something stirred in Jim whenever he gazed in her sapphire eyes, but wasn't sure if he had to feel alarmed or not. Her past was bright as day to him, but not her mind. She left him puzzled; thinking about what's going on in that pretty, little head of hers. The way she talked and walked made Jim go crazy all over again, if that was even possible. Knowing that she was young and innocent, made Moriarty fear of making her take the wrong path in life. He's given her hints of what she's got herself into and so has she, that she's not going anywhere.

* * *

Comfortable silence was exchanged between them the same day. During the day, she had done nothing overly productive and somehow, it didn't bother her, because for a change, she had Jim to accompany her. Her competitive nature showed in a game of billiard they had, in which Moriarty was so into telling her, he let her win. Moran had dropped by to speak to Jim about business of some sort, which of course, the girl was not invited to. No matter how great the constant laziness could be, she had to keep herself on her feet and the walls of his home had become too familiar and almost boring "I've been thinking of looking for a job at a hospital to kill the time. Would you be so kind and help me find one, Mr. Moriarty?"

Changing the subject crossed his mind, for once he feared her safety by being connected to him and someone finding out. Also, the familiar ex- army doctor came up in his mind and so did his master plan of ruining the detective. For once, the thought of getting her into his plans, wasn't so bad.

"What's with the formality, it makes me feel old." Jim turned to the full length mirror in the dining room, taking in his features, the slight, silvery stubble over his jaw, and lines in the corners of his eyes. Well, he wasn't getting any younger either.

"I'm not calling you master, if those we're your expectations." The girl said casually, blowing on her steaming cup of tea.

What surprised Moriarty, just as much as the girl, was the genuine short laugh that escaped his lips seconds after. Even if he walked around wearing an innocent smirk and dropped witty remarks once in a while, it always felt like Jim did it for his image. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she'd seen, without him noticing, his true colours show, and they weren't as pretty. Moriarty had caught himself off guard, but cleared his throat and went on. "You wish. Jim or James, please."

She smiled about to respond with his first name, but was interrupted by him again "or Jimmy." Which made her do nothing else, but roll her eyes.

"And yes, I'll be glad to help you with your career opportunities."

* * *

**The o-m-g you will not believe authors note: **

**Oh, hi, I'm back. So this one was..a bit interesting and weird for me to write and honestly, I'm not suuuuure if I'm pleased with it but what's been done is done. SO, I hope you will leave a review for me and tell me what you think. I answer to all of your reviews if they are from an account soo yeah. THANK YOU.**

**AND what's most important, you could say the little (Five chapter) intro has been kind of finished and the real action is about to start, so yeah, hang in there with me. k bye. **


End file.
